


In Which Sam is Secretly a Slut

by SammysGirl666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, F/M, Fingerfucking, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sam Has Secrets, Top Sam, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammysGirl666/pseuds/SammysGirl666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn't keep secrets from each other. Honesty was their policy.</p><p>But Sam had always had a penchant for breaking the simplest rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Sam is Secretly a Slut

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why this happened and I'm not entirely convinced that this story makes sense but there is boy sex so enjoy it :)
> 
> Anyways, I posted this at 4am and no one read it so I went in, did some grammar check and am posting it again at 6am! :)

"Jesus fucking Christ, Sam!"

And then she came for a third time, shaking like a leaf, whimpering and biting her lip so hard, she drew a little spot of blood. Sam smirked and continued his measured pace, drawing his hips back, twisting a bit, and ramming home hard to hit just there inside of her. She groaned against his tan shoulder, almost a sound of pain, because they'd been at it for almost an hour and Sam was a relentless bastard in bed. She nudged her hips forward, urging him to finish himself off because she was  _done_. He understood her perfectly but didn't let up. He wanted to hear her say it. She bit her lip and caved as he stroked his thumb over her oversensitized clit. Her hips bucked and she whined.

" _Please_ ," she begged, "do it."

Pleasure had never hurt before, she marvelled. But it was torture; the sweetest torture and a kind she would go through everyday for the rest of her life if she could. Sam gave into her plea and started up a hard and ruthless rhythm, fucking her up into the headboard where she had to fix her hands above her to keep from hitting her head. He didn't make sound, she noticed. There were no sexy grunts or throaty moans, just hard and even breaths that became more uneven with approach to orgasm.

It was kind of sexy in its own brand.

It fit his quiet intensity, if nothing else, she reasoned. Coming a fourth time was out of the question, so she let him use her body for his release without much argument. It didn't take long, and after a few well-aimed thrusts, he was spilling himself into the condom and panting harshly against her neck.

"Holy shit," she murmured. "No seventeen year old boy should have that much stamina."

He chuckled breathlessly.

"No 24 year old woman should be able to have three orgasms," he retorted.

"Touche," she responded dryly as he huffed a deep breath before getting up and gathering up his clothes.

"So, how holds up the code of ethics?" He asked, shooting her a sly grin.

"Jimeny Cricket is being drown out by post coital bliss, ask again later." He laughed at that. "Regardless, you're leaving town soon so I think my guilt will be assuaged."

"Mmm," he intoned, leaning over to kiss her one more time. "Just don't make a habit of sleeping with 17 year old boys."

"As long as you don't make a habit of seducing older women."

He laughed, a low and clear tenor that did things to her libido.

"Sorry, Ms. Paskance. Can't make that kind of promise."

He stood up to leave.

"Will I see you in class tomorrow, Sam?" She asked, just before he left.

He turned, gave his English teacher a soft look and said,

"Of course, Ms. Paskance, but I'm leaving on Thursday."

"Would you like to meet up one last time before then?"

He turned on the puppy eyes.

"It'd probably be better if we didn't."

"You're right," she agreed after a beat. "Get outa here, kid. It's past curfew."

He laughed once more which was a sound she knew she would be fantasizing about for months afterward.

"Goodnight Ms. Paskance, I'll see you tomorrow."

Then he was gone. She leaned back into the silk sheets of her antique Chip 'n Dale bed and sighed, falling to sleep with Sam Winchester's dimples on her mind.

 ****

Sam cursed as he left the apartment building because Noelle was right, it was past curfew and Dean was going to be pissed. He had borrowed the Impala for "research" and he knew Dean was going to tear him a new one when he got back to the motel. He checked himself in the car mirror, making sure his lips weren't too kiss-swollen and that there were no visible marks on his neck and chest.

He fixed his rumpled clothes and hair and doused himself in some mild cologne to compete with the sex and sweat smell on his skin. Once satisfied, he pulled out of the parking lot and hauled ass back to the motel.

"What the fuck, Sam?" Came Dean's irritated voice when Sam stepped through door.

"I'm sorry, I got caught up at the library," he excused, puppy eyes going in full force.

Dean glared at him, icy and unforgiving. Then, abruptly, he sighed and snatched the car keys from Sam's hand.

"Just don't let it happen again. I worry about you, Sammy. Especially when you have my car."

Sam snorted at that and felt relief flood him. He'd been fucking girls since he was fifteen, had become a professional at hiding it, but he was still worried that Dean would find out. In his defense, it was almost as if Dean was intentionally obtuse when it came to Sam's sex life. The guy had raised Sam, knew all his quirks and tells. The fact that Dean had absolutely no idea that Sam was no longer a virgin was almost laughable. And Sam would have laughed about it if it wasn't so unsettling.

He curled up on the bed furthest from the door. Dad was on a hunt, it was thirty minutes past curfew, he'd just had sex with a sexy older woman, and Dean was in the shower. A rare feeling of contentment washed over him. In the few moments between things where Sam could just enjoy the present without plotting for the future or resenting the past, he would smile and close eyes and really let himself feel it.

Albeit, he always felt good after sex, tingly and warm. He pushed his head back into the cushy pillow of the motel bed and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket to finger at the lacy thong he had sneakily picked up from the floor of Noelle's apartment. His smile intensified.

"What are you so smiley about?" Dean asked, stepping out of the bathroom in boxers and a sleep shirt.

"Nothin', just something that happened at school today," Sam answered smoothly, removing his hand from his pocket. There was a familiar twinge of guilt at the lie. He never lied to Dean and had promised Dean a year ago that he would tell him all the details of losing his virginity when it happened. But it had already happened by that point so Sam thought that, maybe, he was exempt from that promise.

The truth was that it had not been intentional to keep secrets from Dean. It was just that when he had sex with Abigail Karn at the ripe age of fifteen, he was too embarrassed to talk about it to Dean. The three girls after that should have been the ones that Sam told Dean about. But, not too long after Sam brought his first girl to orgasm with his dick alone, he discovered that it was nice to have this privacy.

It was a luxury he almost never got, but had. His sex life was, for all appearances, completely non-existent. At first, all it was about was privacy; about having something that no one else was able to look in on. But as the sex got more kinky and his one-sided attraction for his brother grew, the purpose of his secret keeping changed.

Suddenly, the secret felt powerful and naughty. Every time they went out to a club or bar and Dean said,

"Look at that girl, Sammy. Been watchin you all night. You gonna get that Sam? Gonna let her pop that cherry o' yours?"

Sam would feel a rush of pleasure at the words and the secret burned hot and hard in his lungs.

"Yeah Dean," he wanted to say. "I'll get that, and I won't even try. It'll be easily, like slicing butter. Then I'll take her home and fuck her so well, she won't remember her name...and I want you to watch."

And maybe that's from where the secret-keeping gained it's power. Sam loved the idea of Dean being surprised by his sexual finesse, his ability in bed. He loved the idea of Dean watching him with some preconceived notion of Sam's own innocence and modesty only to be thrown off the rails by the truth that his baby brother was a stallion in the sack. The slack-jawed, lust-blown look that Sam pictured on Dean's face was enough jack-off material for a few weeks, not to mention a worthy image to conjure during his escapades in marital relations with random, faceless women

Of course, to keep that particular fantasy alive, the lies had to keep going. So when Dean muttered filthy things into his ear at bars, after imbibing in the consumption of a generous amount of alcohol, all Sam could do was blush and roll his eyes and sip at his cherry coke with quiet discomfort written all over his face.

And the fact that everyone else thought he was some sort of monk? Yeah, it made the secret a thousand times better

The hunting community wasn't particularly intertwined, but everyone knew a little something about everybody. The Roadhouse was where all the hunting gossip was exchanged. If a hunter was good enough in the field, he started to have an image, his own personal stigma. John Winchester was a warrior, a fierce soldier but a bad father (or a great one, depending on how one looked at it.) Dean Winchester was a troublemaker and a slut. Sam Winchester was going to go places.

It was his own personal stigma: Sam Winchester, the one who was going to make it out. It wasn't his fault that the particular stigma was unceremoniously lumped together with ill-perceived innocence. And maybe he should have discouraged the misconception, but it was too good to have Dean this way.

Because, sure, Dean wasn't really his. But to have him, even if only ever in his fantasies, was better than not having him at all.

Sam closed his eyes, he would shower in the morning. As the world faded to darkness, he had green eyes and a mischievous grin on his mind.

****

It was never supposed to come to a head because his secret pining for Dean was to remain just that; secret. But it did. On a Friday night.

They had left Montgomery and Ms. Paskance and three orgasms behind the week previous and they were put up in Ohio for two weeks on the trail of a Rugaru. Dean went with Dad on the hunt and Sam was left to his own devices. So, with one of his countless fake I.D.'s, he went out to troll some bars.

He wasn't like Dean who would fuck any dumb slut who flashed her tit in the seedy alley behind the bar. He liked classy ladies, women. The kind that went to bars with her girlfriends after book club and drank gin and tonic with her no-stick red lipstick, leaving perfect lip prints on the rim of her crystal. He liked the challenge, the "I'm too old for you, honey," meeting his "have you ever had an orgasm that you feel to the roots of your hair, sweetheart?"

He liked these women because they were so much unlike Dean that nothing ever paralleled. He never had to worry about trying to fuck Dean vicariously through his conquests if his conquests were as un-Dean as they come. So he went after the smart, sophisticated types who wore dresses that showed a lot of leg but no cleavage. The ones who pretended to hate sex but were firecrackers in bed.

That being the case, the name of the bar he entered that night was  _The Lounge_. He had to go to places like this to find his women. Despite the drinks being grossly overpriced, places like this had classy woman flocking to them. Dean was more likely to pick up girls in a place called  _The Backdoor_. 

The Lounge was a small, intimate venue with low lighting and lower, loud music. The interior was all faux-marble structures and intricate glass carvings. The music was all bass and pulsed against his ear drumbs and gave the illusion of being quiet, though it drowned out any other sound in vicinity.

He walked to the bar and ordered a Scotch. He sat at the barstool and scanned the crowd. He sipped his drink and eyed a group of women huddled in corner, all looking ramped up and giggly. They were shy, the "this is something we don't do everyday but we're being spontaneous" kind of girls. He was intrigued. He made his decision. Before going over, he gave one last sweep of the bar. And stopped.

There she was.

Sitting in one of the plush armchairs across the bar, with one long leg crossed over the other, was an impressive looking woman. She was the culmination of everything Sam liked in women and just looking at the way her lips closed over the rim of her gin and tonic had Sam sporting a semi. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows were very expressive as she listened to what her friend had to say to her, sometimes furrowing in interest and sometimes rising in surprise. The friend was a mousy, whispy thing that might have been pretty if she was not sat next to such a goddess. Sam almost felt sorry for the friend, knowing he was going to be the reason that she was left behind. But his libido was speaking for him tonight. He had to take this woman tonight and wipe that pretentious, "I know everything about anything because I made it to 35" look off her face.

She wouldn't be easy, Sam knew that already. He made his way over and cleared his throat to get her attention. The mousy friend seemed to shrink back info herself as the woman's imperious gaze turned to Sam. Having only a second to gauge her mood, he made a quick decision.

"Um...er," he stammered, "it's just...um, never mind, this was stupid, I'll leave you alone."

He hoped that was enough as he turned away. If it hadn't been, there was still a group of giggling women in the other corner. Either way, he was getting laid tonight.

"Wait," sounded a sultry, soothing voice. "Come back here, young man."

Sam smirked, but quickly made it into a nervous expression as he turned back to the woman.

"What is it that you came over here to tell me?" She asked, one eyebrow raised in question, her lips quirked into welcoming smile.

"Oh, I-I was just, uh, thinking that you're like really beautiful and, uh, stuff. S-sorry to interrupt your conversation."

The woman's look turned predatory and Sam victory lapped inside.

"Cheryl," the woman addressed the mousy friend, "you don't mind going home alone tonight, do you?"

"No," said Cheryl, "go have fun."

The woman stood and Sam blushed which was only 50% false because he really was sporting a semi and arousal was causing his cheeks to heat. Of course, it looked like shyness to--

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," he muttered, just loud enough to hear, speaking to his feet.

"Look at me when you speak boy, have you no manners?"

His head snapped up and he smiled sheepishly.

"My name is Constance and you?"

"Sam, uh, just Sam."

They walked out into the parking lot and got into the Impala.

"Alright, Sam," and, Christ, that voice was going to sound so good screaming his name later, "here is how tonight is going to work--"

Ah, a woman who liked to treat sex like a business transaction. Sam loved these. They had all their little rules and boundaries and it was fun to watch their faces as he tore down each and every one of them.

"There will be ground rules--"

Sam nodded and then lunged across the seat, attaching his lips to hers. She resisted at first, which was fine by Sam but she melted laughably quick. Maybe not as much of a challenge as he thought. He slid his tongue along hers and kissed clean and hot, no dripping saliva or clashing teeth. She shuddered against him and he pulled away. Her eyes were blown, her lips were shiny. He smirked at her.

"I hope there wasn't a 'no kissing' ground rule," he said lowly. She shivered again and he smirked wider, leaning in and pressing his lips to her ear. "Now here's how tonight's gonna go, Constance," he whispered, "I'm going to take you back to my motel where I'm going to fuck you so well,  the clouds will part to reveal heaven. Then, we're going to do it three more times before you go back to your big empty house with your two dogs and a cat with a pleasant ache between your legs that will most definitely be your reminder of the best sex you've ever had."

She was breathing fast now.

"You don't have three times in you," she retorted breathlessly. Sam laughed and pulled out of the parking lot.

It would be fun to prove her wrong.

****

They were on the doubted third round. Sam had her on her knees. Her arms had given out and her face was pressed into the mattress while her arms stretched out on either side of the bed. He was lavishing her lower back with kisses as she murmured incoherently. He sank lower until he was level with her cunt again. It was still fluttering with her second orgasm and Sam reveled in the scream of, "Sam!" as he devoured her again.

He tongued and licked expertly, feeding off of her desperate moans and groans. He brought a finger up along side his tongue and began finger fucking her and her moans reached heaven.

"FUCK! SamSamSamSam!!"

He smirked against her clit and pulled away, kissing his way back up her spine. His fingers pumped in and out of her slowly and he removed them gently before bringing them up to her face where she eagerly took them into her mouth.

"Ready?" He questioned. She nodded vigorously and he lined up his weeping cock and slid home. She screamed around his fingers and, already pretty strung out himself, he started a brutal rhythm. It didn't take long for her hypersensitive nerves to bring her to orgasm a third time...and a fourth.

"JESUS! SAM! Sam, shit fuck! SamSamSamSam--"

"Sam?" And that was definitely a male voice. Dean, Sam's sex-drown brain supplied. Dean had walked in on him fucking this woman. That was a bad thing.

But it was too late and one thrust later, he was spilling into the condom with a shaking, whimpering woman beneath him.

It took him a moment to regain his bearings but when he did, he looked to the door to see that Dean had stepped back out of the room. He sighed...shit.

"Wh-who was that?" Constance asked from below him.

"My brother," he answered, peeling himself off of her. "He wasn't supposed to be back tonight...I'm sorry but...you better go."

He dressed quietly, resigned as the gravity of what happened hit him.

"It's not a problem," she assured. "It was...very nice to meet you, Sam."

He nodded, thoroughly put off by the knowledge that he was caught. He sighed and left the room, letting Constance clean herself up in privacy. Dean was leaning against the Impala, a cigarette between his lips when Sam walked out into the parking lot. When he got close enough, Dean offered him one. He took it. Dean lit it for him and they stood there in amicable smoking silence for a minute.

"How long ago?" Dean asked. Sam sighed.

"Fifteen, that month in Auburn. Abigail Karn and it was the most awkward and embarrassing thing I've ever experienced. Yes, I finished too early and no, she didn't finish at all."

Constance walked out of the room and right over to Sam.

"Your wife is going to be one very very lucky woman," she complimented. "Goodbye, Sam and good luck."

She walked away.

"So you like older women?"

That lead into Sam recounting most, if not all, of his sexual escapades over the years. As he spoke, he became more and more aroused because it was Dean he was speaking to. When Dean asked,

"Why didn't you tell me?"

There was no way to say, "because I want to be ready when I get to fuck you." So he muttered something about privacy.

"Gotta say, Sammy, I'm impressed. You're quite the lover aren't ya? You're lucky dad went straight to his room instead of checking up on you. You would've never lived it down."

Sam flushed and he started to feel like the blushing virgin he always pretended to be.

"I never meant to keep it from you guys, I just--"

"Don't worry about it, Sammy. I understand, s'nice to have privacy in this life. Just...let me in, from now on okay? I won't tell dad, ya know. I just don't like it when you keep secrets from me."

"Sure, Dean, of course," Sam quickly agreed. This was going to blow over. Sure, Dean was going to tease him a bit more and there would be a new tactic when they went to bars to score women. But, in the end, this was all going to blow over.

Or not.

****

If he thought Dean not knowing was hot, then Dean knowing was fucking sweltering. He had always dismissed Dean's propensity for muttering obscene filth into his ear as the unavoidable sum of Dean+alcohol. But he was beginning to second-guess that theory altogether.

It happened one day in a park.

She was tall, just short of Sam's towering frame. Easily 40, maybe just under. She was striking, she was all angles and lines and thin lips. In two words, Sam's type. He might have made a move had Dean not stepped behind him and started whispering dirty, naughty things into his ear.

"Found somethin ya like, Sammy? Yeah, I like em tall too. What're you thinkin, Sammy? Thinkin about how those pretty thin lips would look stretched out over your thick cock? Maybe how that nice pencil skirt would look hiked up over those pointed hips? Wanna fuck her, Sammy? Lick her open and then drive that nice cock of yours into her until she's coming like a freight train? Yeah, that what you want?"

Sam was rooted to the spot as Dean stepped away. He had to drag Sam back to the Impala as he was still reeling. When they got in the car, Sam wanted to ask what the fuck that was about. But when he looked over, Dean was straight faced and acting like nothing had happened. Sam shook himself, what the fuck was going on?

But he dropped it, resolving that Dean was just trying to get Sam to squirm in the most unorthodox and uncomfortable way ever.

On the way back to the motel, Dean kindly did not mention the wet spot on the front of Sam's jeans.

****

Sam had to hand it to Dean. Not many older brothers could make their little brother cream themselves then act like it never happened. But that was precisely what Dean did. It happened a few more times, but Sam was more prepared for it and was miraculously able to stave off of orgasm. Still, he was confused.

At first, he was sure Dean was getting back at him for two years of lying. But the more it happened, the more he doubted the truth of that. Sam hadn't slept with anyone since Constance because Dean had him so unbalanced. It was like one day he was walking in a straight line on stable, flat ground and the next, Dean was taking his world and tiliting it just enough that Sam stumbled every few steps.

Sam started to get the feeling that Dean was playing a different angle. And the more he looked for it, the more he saw. The way Dean's eyes would flash, hot, as he spoke to Sam. The way he felt Dean's eyes on him at bars even if he was surrounded by a gaggle of trussed up girls. The way he felt Dean's eyes on him all the time. Period.

But Sam didn't want to get his hopes up. How much of what he saw was there and how much was him, seeing what he wanted to see? Still, once the idea was planted, it could not be weeded.

The only way to go about it was to take a chance. Dean was his brother, after all. The worst thing that could happen was being rejected. Sam could survive that. Brothers were still brothers and in a few years time, they would be able to laugh at Sam's episode of sexual dysfunction. But he would never know if he didn't try.

So after school on a Wednesday, when dad was away on a hunt and Dean was racking up cash at a local garage, Sam hatched a plan. Dean got off work at 6, Sam left school at 3. That gave him three hours to work with.

He used the first two hours to pace nervously and fidget and argue with himself in pointless circles because he had already made up his mind about this. Then, with the last hour, he took a long hot shower, determinedly shut his thoughts off and, with ten minutes to spare, laid his naked form out on Dean's bed. He opened his legs, stroked his hard cock, teasing, and waited.

****

In the seconds between the sound of Dean at the door, and the moment he actually stepped through it, Sam changed his mind a thousand times. Dean hadn't looked at him yet, he could still climb into his bed and pretend to be embarrassed. There was still time for this to be a mistake, a misunderstanding, an accident. Something nice and easy to swallow that happened to everyone. Sam began to realize, in the half second it took for Dean to turn his head, that this was a line they could not un-cross. And it would probably be better for all parties involved if they didn't cross it and crossing it would be to step into something fragile and dangerous.

But, fuck it. Sam was going to do this.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy," Dean said. And was his voice a little breathless?

"Hey Dean," Sam breathed back, a small smirk on his lips. He met his brother's eyes, trying to express his intentions loud and clear without saying anything at all.  _I know what you've been up to. I'm sick of it. Man up. Take me. I want it. I want it. I want it. I want you._

He hoped Dean took the hint.

And then Dean was  **on**  him, attacking Sam's mouth while he stripped off his leather jacket. Sam responded immediately, heart pounding and head spinning.

"Wh-why didn't you, shit, say anything before?" Sam gasped between kisses.

"Shut up, Sam. Talk about this later," Dean answered, running his lips along Sam's jaw.

Sam couldn't find it in himself to argue. Not when Dean was mouthing at his neck like that.

"Fuck Dean," Sam gasped. "Fuck me."

"Oh no, Sammy boy," Dean all but growled. "You been gettin lots of practice, you're gonna be doing the fucking tonight."

Sam's brain short circuited. Because Dean could not be asking Sam to fuck him. That was absolutely not a thing that could be happening. Except it was. Something inside him roared up and he flipped them, pinning Dean beneath him.

"They ever make you feel like this, Sammy? Any of those old hags make you hot like this?"

And then everything clicked for Sam. Dean was  _jealous_. He hated that Sam had been soiled, his precious and innocent baby brother. Dean had probably wanted this from Sam for years and had never said anything. That was why Dean started talking filthy to Sam about girls, he knew Sam would never make a move if Dean laid the groundwork for it. It would be too close to vicariously fucking Dean which was something Sam avoided at all costs. And if it had the added bonus of turning Sam on like a fucking lighthouse? All the better. It also made sense, now, why Dean had never said anything before. He thought Sam was innocent so he didn't have to worry, could pursue Sam at a leisurely pace or not at all. Sam had lit the fire under his ass with Constance. Dean was not going to let another woman touch him again.

As he kissed his way down Dean's, now naked, chest he realized he was okay with that.

"Only you do this to me, Dean, only you," he assured.

He hastily removed the rest of Dean's clothes. Quite suddenly, he felt like a fumbling virgin all over again. His heart was pounding, his hands were shaking, and he was so hard he felt he was about to burst.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, genuinely concerned. "We don't have to do this, man, I thought you--"

Sam kissed him to shut him up. He regained his bearings. Dean's nervousness offset his own and his rapid heart beat slowed as he gained control over his libido. This was a first for both of them, he reminded himself. Even if Dean had done this before, he'd never done it with Sam, his little brother. They were both crossing this line.

They were crossing it together.

He slapped Dean lightly on the hip to get him to lift up so he could stuff some pillows underneath him.

"Aw, Sammy, look at you takin care of me."

Sam rolled his eyes but felt some tension leave him. The familiar banter calmed him. This was Dean, no one to be scared of. He'd known Dean his entire life, he had nothing to worry about. He puffed out a breath and slid down Dean's body to come face to face with his big brother's erect cock. Dean was thicker than him, but a tad shorter. It was a beautiful thing, really, red and weeping.

Sam's mouth watered.He eagerly began licking up and down the shaft, kissing and suckling. Dean's hips bucked forward, but he made no sound. Sam was having none of it.

He wanted to make his big brother  _scream_.

He gathered up his courage and, in one fell swoop, took Dean into his mouth down to the root. He fought, tooth and nail, not to gag and forced his throat to relax. He had never done this before and, despite graphic illustrations and accounts of it on the internet, Sam could not claim to be an expert. So it was with some pride that he managed to get his throat to accept Dean and began to swallow around the cock in his mouth.

Dean began to moan, low and rough sounds that did things to Sam. It was a start, Sam conceded.

Saliva began to drip out of the sides of his mouth as he continued to suck Dean's dick. He became bolder and bobbed his head up and down, suckling on the tip before swallowing him whole again. Dean looked down and met Sam's own lust-blown gaze. He threw his head back and groaned, long and loud.

Better, Sam thought smugly.

"Holy hell, Sam, you don't fucking know how you look right now. So fucking gorgeous, baby brother," Dean babbled.

Sam flushed with pride at the praise and pulled off of Dean's dick with an obscene  _pop_! noise. He dipped his head further to nuzzle Dean's balls and saw the dusky, pink hole waiting for him. He got the insane urge to start licking Dean open but, as his cock twitched indignantly, he knew he could not wait. Maybe another time, Sam thought.

Yes, another time, he would lavish Dean's body with affection. Another time, they would go slow and sweet and make love. But not tonight, tonight Sam needed to be in Dean like...twenty minutes ago.

"Lube?" Sam asked, hating how his voice hitched.

Dean nodded and rummaged through the bedside table drawer before pulling out a small bottle of KY. Sam didn't bother to ask why Dean was carrying around a bottle of lube, just reached out and grabbed it.

He squirted a generous amount on his right index finger and reached down, between his brother's legs. As his finger breeched the tight entrance, he took time to drink Dean in. The golden skin shimmered with sweat, the defined muscles clenched an unclenched, and his abs fluttered with every breath. He met the glittering green eyes that were dark with lust and he flicked his eyes down to the sinful, plump lips. He knew that after tonight, his sexual prerogative would be to get those lips wrapped tightly around his cock. But not tonight, tonight was about crossing a line.

He leaned forward to kiss Dean as he slipped in a second finger. He pushed deeper and deeper until the passage gave, then he curled his fingers, nailing what Sam hoped was his older brother's prostate.

"Shit, Sam,  _there_!" Dean gasped.

Bingo, Sam thought.

The third finger met more resistance than the first two. Sam had to reapply a coating of lube to get it to go (with much protest and whining from Dean, "I'm fine, Sam, leave it. Just  _fuck me_.") When Sam felt Dean was sufficiently prepped, he removed his fingers.

He slathered an unnecessary large amount of lube on his dick.

"What do ya think's gonna happen, Sam? I don't care how big your dick is, I'm not gonna break." 

Sam ignored his older brother, something he had a talent for after doing it for the better part of seventeen years. Then, with as much care as a seventeen year old boy on the precipice of fucking a very hot piece of ass could muster, he pressed his aching cock into Dean's entrance.

Dean took it, gasping and grinding and biting his lip to prevent embarrassing squealing noises. The tight heat was overwhelming and Sam had to stop twice so that the sensations didn't overtake him. He was not about to lose it with his brother. If he did, he would never hear the end of it.

What seemed like an eternity later, Sam was fully seated and Dean, in true Dean-fashion, was being impossible. He kept writhing and bucking his hips, whining, not giving Sam a second to think or God damn breathe.

"Come  _on_ , Sammy," he demanded, canting his hips upward, "fuck me, already. Show me what ya got, little brother. Give it to me like you gave it to all your old sluts, Sammy. Show me, c'mon."

Ah, Sam thought (which was an amazing feat with a writhing Dean planted on his cock), there's the crux of it. Dean wanted retribution, wanted to make up for lost time and stake his claim on Sam simultaneously. He wanted to remind Sam just who he belonged to by replacing any of Sam's sexual endeavors with this image: Dean, writhing and whining for his cock, begging to be fucked like all those who came before him.

"Dean, stop," Sam demanded softly. "You've got nothing to worry about, big brother," he assured, the words getting more and more broken as the tight heat around his cock clenched and unclenched. "It was all for you, anyway. All for you, just wanted to be good for you, Dean, s'all."

"Sammy," Dean moaned softly. Their eyes met and the green orbs softened and warmed, shining with content instead of jealousy.

That did it for Sam.

He drew his hips back, angled, and thrust back in. Dean moaned, but Sam wasn't satisfied. He tried again, thrusting at a different angle, Dean shivered. Not good enough. Third time, he drew his hips back and snapped forward.

"Jesus fucking Christ, SAM!"

Sam smirked, widened his kneeling stance on the bed, lifted Dean's legs to wrap more securely around his hips. Then, he went to town. He started up a frantic rhythm. Again, there would be time for everything else. But tonight was about the start of something they wouldn't be able to back down from.

Sam's thrusts were hard and even, but fast. His cock slid in and out of Dean's willing heat at a rapid pace. Dean was beneath him, head thrown back, moaning and panting, tightening his leg hold on his little brother.

"Fu-u-uck, SamSamSam," Dean chanted.

And it sounded so much better from his lips than any woman's.

Sam drove his hips harder, faster. He reached up, tilted Dean's head down and attacked the sinful mouth with his own. It was all teeth and saliva, dirty and the hottest thing ever.

Their skin was becoming sweat-slick, the thrusts becoming a reverberating  _slap slap slap_  of heated flesh. And it was too much, Sam pushed himself up from where he was covering Dean. Now, he was kneeling. He grabbed Dean's legs, wrapped them around his neck and then, with an animalistic growl, started thrusting relentlessly.

"FUCK! DeanDeanDeanDean!"

Their screams and wanton moans bounced off each other, complimenting each other.

Sam was close, practically shaking with impending orgasm as he drove in again and again. He only had enough functioning brain cells to reach down and wrap a hand around Dean's bouncing cock.

The added pressure proved to be too much. With Sam nailing his prostate on every thrust while jacking his cock in tandem, Dean came undone. He threw his head back, let loose a loud and throaty moan, and came and came...and came. Each pulse of come splattered his and Sam's stomach and all he could do was ride it out as the orgasm dragged on.

"Jesus Christ, Dean," Sam gasped and that was it. He shot off inside Dean so hard, the world went white. He growled and groaned and his hips stuttered violently as he rode it out.

When he came to, Dean had stopped coming and was laying under Sam, sleepy and sated. Sam collapsed beside him and immediately curled up into his side. Dean let him, stroking a hand through his hair as he rested it on his chest.

"Good?" Sam asked. Dean chuckled.

"You sure know what you're doing I'll give you that," and he sounded so put together, like Sam hadn't just spent the better part of an hour taking him apart and watching him come undone.

"Wh-why now?" Sam asked, voice still shaky from his orgasm. Dean sighed, bringing an arm up to wrap around Sam's shoulders.

"Guess I always thought I'd have time. I saw the way you looked at me, knew it for what it was and I knew if I stepped in, you'd let me take whatever I wanted. But I didn't want to take advantage of you or your inexperience. I was prepared for girlfriends and awkward talks about losing your virginity. But...if you're going be a slut, Sammy, you're gonna be a slut for me and me, alone."

"So that's it? Just because I don't have any corruptable innocence, incest is okay? You're not going to have some guilty freak out about this?" Sam asked, incredulously.

"Oh no, I will definitely freak out," Dean assured. "Just not right now...later."

And while waiting for the fallout didn't sound appealing to Sam, he had just had sex with Dean. The night was warm, the motel bed was soft, and they were covered in come and sweat and maybe it could wait until morning. Sam was in no hurry to see where crossing this line would take them. It would all work out eventually. It always did.

His last cognizant thought before he drifted off to sleep was;

Better not keep secrets from Dean again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you see the boy sex? Leave comments, my dears. They make me warm inside.


End file.
